station X
by lollipop-mania
Summary: she was everything to him except his
1. station X

note: this work is heavily based on Wong Kar Wai's movie _Fa Yeung Nin Wa_. I also stole some lines from other books that influenced me. The whole mood is based on the Frank Sinatra song Night and Day. _There IS a second part that will be published in a few days._

**Title**: station _x (_luck be a lady)  
**Pairing**: Shikamaru/Temari  
**Rating**: T (possible M tbh)  
**Length**: Twoshot (10k)  
**Warning: **period piece (1950ish). au.  
**Summary**: Meeting people on the train is a funny thing. It is beautiful in some ways. Like how the a train is often used as a metaphor for life— you ride the tracks as passengers get on and off. It is true, Shikamaru thinks, people just come in and out of his life, as though he really was riding. And that was how he met her. One day, she got on. And one day, she left. She was everything to him except his.

* * *

**station _x __  
_**

* * *

_"It is a restless moment. She has kept her head lowered… to give him a chance to come closer. But he could not, for lack of courage. She turns and walks away."_

* * *

The platform is mostly empty. Besides himself, there are only three people on the track. The woman closest to him catches his eye. He has never seen her on this train before, but the other passengers are regulars.

She has a nice coat on: thick brown fabric that passes over her knees. Her calves are slim and white, and her leather shoes tap idly as she awaits the train. She looks familiar, but he can't place her. Maybe she looks like someone he met a long time ago. He doesn't know.

Out of the corner of his eye, he continues to watch her. The train isn't running behind schedule, but she checks her watch every few minutes, blinking and giving long sighs to indicate she is late. Her hair is pulled back from her face, pinned and curled. She doesn't look like she is going to any particular function and he wonders why she is so anxious.

When the train comes, she steps onto the car beside him. He can't shake the feeling that he has seen her somewhere before.

* * *

"Want me to pick you up from work?"

"No, don't worry about it. The office has been crazy all day." She says.

"Do you think you'll be late?"

"At this rate, it's hardly a question."

"Okay then, I'll see you later."

"It'll be late. Don't stay up."

Shikamaru sighs and hangs up.

* * *

The next night, she is on the train again. He waits on the platform, as usual, and this time she is standing closer to him.

She is wearing the same coat and shoes as yesterday. Her hair is pinned back again. The more he watches her, the more familiar she looks. He racks his mind to figure out where they might have met. Shikamaru works for a newspaper, but not as a reporter. He doesn't meet many people, much less many women, outside of his job. But she looks nothing like the women he works with. He would have recognized her if they were in the same office or field.

He has seen her before though, somewhere. He rarely forgets a face. And he can't let it go.

"Excuse me," he says, taking a step forward.

The woman turns slowly, and when her eyes finally settle on him, they are wide and hard. It falters him for a moment.

"I mean nothing by this comment, but have we met somewhere before? You look very familiar to me."

"I don't think so," she says. Her voice is both edged and whispery at the same time.

"I'm Shikamaru Nara," he extends his hand. She pauses, obviously quite put off, but after a moment, she slips her smaller one into his and they shake.

"Temari Ryo."

It hits him quickly. The recognition spreads like rapid fire through his body, toiling his gut. _He never forgets a face_; especially her face.

"Mrs. Ryo, of course," he mumbles to himself. "We met last year," he clarifies, "at the Togaku Corporation's christmas party."

He wonders how she feels. Does the knowledge pass through her like a knife filleting the skin? Is it a practiced acknowledgment? Her face reveals nothing. He shouldn't assume she knows.

"Mr. Nara," she nods. "You're right, we have met." There is a tight smile on her face. She doesn't like talking to him, but he can't leave now.

A brief silence follows. He isn't sure what to say. They've never exchanged more than a few words. But there is no need to count all his eggs before they've hatched.

"Where are you off to?" She asks, after a moment.

"Home." He answers. "I work in the neighborhood."

Her lips press together. Long, light eyelashes brush her cheeks as she blinks, eyes glancing around the track.

"And you?"

The corners of her mouth turn up slightly. "I live around here, a few blocks down."

"Where are you going?"

"To visit a friend."

It isn't his business, but he asks anyway. He has nothing to lose to her. "And yesterday?"

"You shouldn't watch people on the train." She isn't critical, probably letting the comment slip without thinking.

"You looked familiar."

"I suppose so… she is getting engaged, my friend, I've been discussing it with her after work and before her fiancé comes home."

Shikamaru's throat is dry. She doesn't seem very loose with her words. He wants to ask her why she is telling him this. He won't, though. Instead he asks: "do you give good advice?"

"I don't know," she answers honestly.

"How long have _you_ been married?"

"Not long. Two years."

Shikamaru nods to himself. He doesn't know what to take from this conversation; how to understand it. He gives her the opportunity to reciprocate any questions, but she says nothing. A longer silence ensues as they wait for the train.

When it comes, they get on together. They both stand by the doors, shoulder to shoulder with good space between them. She is looking straight ahead, thoughts drifting somewhere else.

"What do you do?" Mrs. Ryo asks eventually.

"I work for the paper."

He glances at her. Her skin is smooth, unworn in comparison to his own. They are both young though, which makes sense, he thinks. Neither supposed to be as seasoned in the world as they are.

"And you?"

"I work for a lab."

"Biology?"

"Physics."

He nods and she tilts her head to him. Their eyes meet and hold for an instant before he looks away.

"How long have you studied—"

She cuts him off when the train comes to a halt, three stations from where they first got on.

"This is my stop," she says. Her leather shoes click on the floor as she walks past him. "It was nice to see you again."

"Say hello to your husband for me."

"Will do." Mrs. Ryo smiles and nods and the doors shut, leaving her on the platform as the train pulls out of the station.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Shikamaru gives a small smirk and leans over the fifth floor reception counter of Togaku. "I thought I'd stop by to pick her up."

"Oh? She didn't tell you?" The man behind the counter chuckles, "she got off early today."

"Really?" Shikamaru smiles. "She must be home by now, then. We must have just missed each other."

* * *

Shikamaru stands against a plaster wall on a street a few blocks away from the station. He is looking ahead and smoking a cigarette.

If he were honest with himself, he has been smoking a lot more in the recent months. Beforehand it'd never really been a habit nor a pastime. Now he doesn't quite consider it either. He doesn't know if he really craves them. Whenever he feels the urge, he has one on-hand. There is never any extended period of want. But Shikamaru cannot deny that he's been smoking much more recently.

He'd left work early to go stop by Togaku, but of course that hadn't amounted to anything. It was easier when he was just being ignorant versus when it was shoved in his face. He wonders what he is trying to accomplish.

He'd gone back to work afterwards, but hadn't been able to make it down the remaining blocks.

Now he isn't looking at anything particular. The street isn't busy but there a fair amount of people walking around. They pass him with no glance. A few cars go by.

His eyes are drawn across the street, where an older couple are slowly making their way down the pavement, fingers intwined. Shikamaru exhales lowly.

They pull up in front of a cafe. There are some tables outside, and a few guests sit under an awning, but the door to the cafe is dark. Someone exits the place and there is a pause as she holds the door open for the couple to walk in. They bow their heads to each other in thanks and it takes a moment for Shikamaru to realize that he recognizes the woman.

Mrs. Ryo waits for a second after the door closes behind her before turning to the left and heading the opposite way of the station. It has been a few weeks since they spoke. She looks exactly the same. She has an attractive gait, patient and sensual, yet dignified. She is quiet and doesn't purposefully draw attention to herself, but he can't stop watching her.

Shikamaru watches until she turns the corner and then he puts out his cigarette and reaches for another. The sun is beginning to set and the light is slanting and painting everything orange.

* * *

"He also works for Togaku."

"Are they friends?"

"They know each other." Shikamaru answers, letting his eyes wander back to the entryway.

"Do you think she is here alone?"

"How would I know?" He asks defensively. He is given a look, but Shikamaru ignores it.

"Shall we ask her to join us?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Asuma waves his hand, eyes turned toward the door. He hasn't seen her in a while—they don't run in the same circles. But Shikamaru wouldn't wholly deny that he'd chosen this particular cafe for a reason.

She is wearing a blue dress today. It is form fitting. She is slimmer than he remembers, her hair—pinned back, as usual—makes her features more prominent.

Her movement is slow and gentle. Not naive or innocent, just gentle. She is hard as stone, he can tell, but she has a way about her. It isn't as familiar as he thought it'd be. But then again, he knows nothing about her. The last time they spoke was over two months ago.

Asuma sighs as she passes their table, and without thinking, Shikamaru straightens. "Mrs. Ryo!"

She turns. Besides a pause in her step, there is little reaction to his presence. She walks back to his table in the small cafe. It is a Thursday afternoon.

"Mr. Nara," she says, smiling. Her lips are tight.

"Shikamaru, please... And this is my boss, Asuma Sarutobi."

She holds out her hand. She has long fingers, and Asuma takes them, standing up. "Temari Ryo."

"A pleasure." Asuma charms. "Please," he gestures to the table, "join us."

"I couldn't—"

"We insist, don't we?"

She looks at Shikamaru and then turns back when he nods. "I see no other option then," she says politely. She pulls out the chair on the other side of their small table and sits down. The waitress comes over and takes her order.

"So, Mrs. Ryo—"

She glances over at Shikamaru once more, and this time, their gazes lock and hold for more than an instant. Finally, as though competing for something, she turns back to Asuma. "Call me Temari."

"Temari, then. What are you doing here?"

"Biding my time," she says vaguely.

Asuma raises his eyebrows at Shikamaru and smiles. "Biding your time," he repeats. "Until when?"

"I am waiting for a call," she clarifies.

He nods. Shikamaru beckons the waiter over. She orders coffee: milk, no sugar.

"How is your friend?" He asks when her order has been taken and they are alone at the table once again.

Temari angles her head at him, thinking. "Ah, you mean the bride-to-be?"

Shikamaru nods.

"I had a friend," Temari explains to Asuma, "that was getting cold feet."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes." She says.

"Glad to hear it. So, Temari, tell me," Asuma picks up, "do you live in the area?"

* * *

"I'll be coming home late again." She says into the receiver.

"Tonight? Would you like me to leave you some dinner?"

"No that's okay, I can order something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me."

"See you later then."

"Goodbye."

Shikamaru hangs up the phone and leans forward to rest his forehead against the wall. He wonders when the pain got duller.

It still hurts— with every breath. But now it is more reluctant. He wonders, though, if the anger will ever stop.

* * *

"Mrs. Ryo called this morning," Shikamaru says, leaning his elbows on the desk and scanning his eyes over the page before him absently. "She says you left your notepad."

"She called you?!" Asuma sighs. "I was hoping she'd come by the office."

"Sorry to disappoint. She says she'll give it to me to give to you."

Asuma grips the hair above his temple. "You! Do you realize how many notes I had to sacrifice leaving that thing there?"

"Was this at the cafe?"

He shook his head. "I invited her out to coffee on Monday."

"You went out with Mrs. Ryo?"

"I was asking her opinion on the science column."

Shikamaru raises his brows and leans back in his seat. "Aren't you too persistent?"

"Who knows? A beautiful woman like that… there is a technique to these things, Shikamaru."

"Mrs. Ryo _is_ married."

Asuma stops and takes a moment to pretend as though this were news to him. "Perhaps that is why she called you instead of me although we both work at the same office… I'm obviously a man whom she can't control herself around. She doesn't need to bother with you."

"Aish." Leaning forward again, Shikamaru picks up the draft paper once more and begins to look over it again.

"She'll be at Togaku's anniversary party, right?"

"_Both _the Ryos should be there…" Shikamaru glanced up. "You're covering that?"

"I may."

"You're pulling out all the stops, aren't you?"

"I leave for my new job in a few weeks. Do you even know how far Iwa is from here? I don't have much time left in Konoha!"

"So you'll use it to pursue a woman?"

"The perfect woman…"

"She called _me_, remember."

Asuma eyes Shikamaru jokingly. "I know your tricks… " He points his finger at Shikamaru. "If _you're_ wife weren't so attractive, she'd be a worried woman."

Shikamaru rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

* * *

He sees Temari at the party.

He sees her twice. The first time she is speaking with Asuma. He is quite obviously flirting, but she throws off all of his advances with careful technique. She is smiling and laughing. Shikamaru has never seen her genuinely smile.

Of course he wouldn't have. _He_ doesn't smile when he is with her... why would _she_?

She is stunning though. Captivating. He can't help but look.

He watches as rubs the pads of her fingers together, or adjusts the fabric of her dress around her hips. He watches as her husband steps behind her and grabs her waist softly, resting comfortably in their proximity as she introduces him to Asuma.

She seems comfortable, which is something else Shikamaru has never witnessed.

They meet eyes for only an instant. Temari simply looks to the side, as though she knows she is being watched. Their gazes lock and hold purposefully. It is interrupted when his wife reaches for his hand and pulls him away.

The second time they meet, Temari follows him out.

He says nothing as she spots him at the edge of the roof and begins to walk over.

"I thought I saw you go up here," is all she says before coming to the railing. He is leaning with his back against it, but she leans and looks over at the street below. Shikamaru reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a silver case. He offers it to her, but Temari shakes her head. "I don't smoke."

Shikamaru takes another drag.

"How have you been?" She asks, turning around to and leaning back against the rail.

Shikamaru shrugs.

They don't speak anymore after that. Temari has a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand, and she twirls it around a few times before letting her arm drop by her side.

Shikamaru takes his time finishing his cigarette.

They are not standing very close, but from the corner of his eye, he can see the rise and fall of her chest.

He doesn't know exactly how long they stay outside. He doesn't finish his smoke before she leaves, but the time passes slowly. In all, it has been only a minute or two.

Temari straightens after a while and turns her head to look at him.

Shikamaru doesn't know how to feel about her. He likes her, in a way. He _would_ like her, he knows. She is quick and diligent. There is something particular about her that attracts him. He is sure, in other circumstances, they could be good friends.

But they can never be.

And he dislikes her. Seeing her is just a reminder. But it isn't, is it? Nothing reminds him. The knowledge is carried like a weight no matter where he is or what he's doing. Temari has nothing to do with it.

But she also paints it for him. In his face in red ink.

He doesn't know how to feel about her, but he isn't lying when he calls out after her, as she makes the walk from the edge of the roof to the door leading to the stairwell, "it was nice… to see you."

Temari stops walking and a breeze pushes past. "Goodnight then." She responds. Shikamaru crushes his cigarettes on the railing and turns around to look out over the city. The clang of the door shutting behind her is the only sound.

* * *

Shikamaru passes her on the way down the stairs from the train station. It is early in the morning and he is going to work. She is coming up the stairs, off somewhere. The stairwell is narrow and when they pass, he moves sideways to give her more room. She also turns and there is a slight slowing of their paces as they pass. But as soon as she is on the stair above him and he on the stair below, they turn back to face their respective directions and continue on, having passed with little more than a nod.

* * *

"I'm only picking up an order," Temari says.

Shikamaru nods.

"Thank you for the invitation though, though."

He places his fork and knife down on the plate. "You don't seem to cook often." They pass one another more than frequently in this cafe.

"Not when I'm by myself."

"This late at night? Where is your husband?"

"In Ame."

"On business?"

Temari nods and glances towards the kitchen, waiting for them to call her.

"Why are you here?"

"Similar reasons. I've never been one to cook for myself."

"Your wife doesn't cook for you?"

"She is visiting her mother this week."

A nod. "Well, a grown man should know how to cook for himself."

Shikamaru blinks and then smiles. She is usually quite careful around him, and he wonders what brought this on.

"My food is ready," Temari says after a moment, and he looks to see a plastic bag on the counter.

"Goodbye."

"See you later."

* * *

They pass one another in the train once more. Temari is standing against the doors and Shikamaru is sitting in a few feet away. He is reading the paper and she is looking in the opposite direction, but he sees her, and he knows, she must see him.

But she never turns her head.

And with neither giving any inclination of acknowledgement, when Shikamaru's stop arrives, he stands and walks out.

_He is getting restless._

* * *

"Could I ask you out tonight?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

"…Okay."

* * *

"I'm sorry to have asked you out like this."

"My husband is working late so it's no trouble."

Shikamaru grips his cup tighter and brings the tea to his lips. He sets it down again. "I have a favor to ask." She raises her brows the smallest amount necessary to show her inquiry. Does she practice these minuscule movements? he wonders, has wondered before.

Their food arrives and Temari breaks their eye contact to fold out her napkin and place it on her lap.

...he stands on the edge of endless hole. It is a pivotal moment. He holds his breath and takes the dive...

"Your purse," he asks slowly, chewing on his bottom lip, "where did you get it?"

Temari gives him a long, unreadable look. She blinks once. "Why?"

"You see, it is my wife's birthday soon, and I would like to buy her one. It is her style and blue is her favorite color."

Temari puts down the fork she'd raised. "Would she like it if we had the same purse?"

There is a pause, then Shikamaru gives a terse laugh. "You're right. I didn't even think of that. Women don't like that kind of thing…" He props his elbow on the table and rubs his jaw to relax. "Maybe a different color?"

The restaurant is badly lit, and in the dirty yellow light, her hair looks darker than it really is. The eyelashes that brush along her cheek are dark. Her eyes are also darker, even more so when they look at him with such strong intensity; as though she knows where he is going with his inquiry.

"I would have to ask my husband," she says after a moment, "he bought it for me on a business trip in Ame."

"Oh, well then."

She licks her lips. "Actually, I was wondering the same thing about your tie. Mind telling me where I can find it?"

His mouth is dry. "I couldn't." He rubs the material between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at it for a second and then eyeing her. "My wife bought this for me."

"To be honest," she says after a long pause. Her back is straight. He rarely sees her slouching. "My husband has the same one…" Her dark eyes dart down to her plate and then placidly skim over the rest of the table and up over Shikamaru's chest before coming back up to his face. "It is actually a very special one," she continues, "a gift from his boss. He wears it everyday."

He takes a sip of his tea. Neither of them speak for almost a full minute.

"Before…" he tries when he finds the words, "my wife… she has the same purse."

"I know. I've seen her with it."

There is a shorter pause this time, and Shikamaru reaches into his breast pocket to pull out his cigarette case. He lights up and takes a long drag.

"What are you getting at?"

He takes another drag before speaking—

"I thought I was the only one who knew."

—the smoke rises up and darkens the bulb above them. Her whole face is shadowed when she bites her fish.

* * *

They walk down the pavement side by side. They are only a few inches apart.

He knows that together they look like a couple strolling down the street. He wonders if that is how it is for _them._

She wonders this too.

Beside him, sweat is beginning to bead on her temples. It is getting warmer out and tonight is especially hot. He is carrying his jacket. Warmth radiates from her; brightness and fire, as though she were the sun, though her appearance is formidable and beautiful.

She is much quieter than he was expecting. He should be used to it by now, but he isn't.

But she would be, around him though, wouldn't she?

Not quiet. Quiet is meek. She is just silent.

He is not surprised when her hand brushes his forearm, or when, as they stop to let some people pass, she rests her palm on his shoulder. The pads of her fingers squeeze and from the corner of his eye, he can see her face. She eyes him carefully, and then lowers her eyes down his form and back up, playful and meaningful. His pulse jumps.

Shikamaru reaches up and grabs her hand, slowly pulling it off him. "It wouldn't have happened that way. She wouldn't have done that."

Temari retracts her hand, clutching it to her body. "Are you saying he was the one to start this?"

How could it be otherwise? His wife wouldn't—

"I'm not saying that," he clarifies. And really, he isn't. "I just mean, she wouldn't have done it that way."

They are in the middle of the sidewalk now, closer to the building than the street. Temari takes a step away and leans against the brick. She looks up. He follows her gaze, but there are no stars. He waits, but she still looks.

He has no idea what she is thinking. The pale fabric of her dress clings to her shoulder and to her breasts, shifting as she sighs.

When she finally looks back at him, her face has taken on a new sort of expression. It looks very final, and not nearly as unbalanced as before. Shikamaru is sure he cannot compete.

"Monday."

"What?"

"I'm free on Monday."

He opens his mouth to ask why, but then shuts it and nods. He wants to see her again too. Not in competition or in spite. Not because of her either.

He—she as well, he imagines—just wants to understand.

* * *

Her knife cuts into the steak and she moves it back and forth and down until it scratches the plate. She lifts the small piece into her mouth and closes her lips around it. She moves her jaw to chew, and he can tell the meat is grinding down against her teeth. She has asked what his wife's favorite dish was, but he has a feeling Temari didn't particularly like steak.

Shikamaru takes a long drag from his cigarette. The heat is beating into the gritty restaurant. Even though it is night, the early summer air hasn't cooled down. The windows are all open, but a comfortable sweat dabs at their hairlines. His suit is sticking to his body and the hot smoke in his lungs doesn't feel particularly nice.

"Do you not like it?" He asks as she swallows.

Temari carefully lifts a napkin and wipes her mouth, taking a sip of her water.

"I don't like spicy food." She says calmly.

"Don't force yourself."

"Your wife likes it this way."

Shikamaru watches her. After a second he picks up the chili mustard on the table and gets out a spoonful, dabbing it on her plate.

Temari stops mid cut and then picks up her piece and runs it through the condiment before sticking it in her mouth. She chews it purposefully and then swallows. The air is thick and the bicycles and cars on the street loud. He watches as Temari takes another bite, dabbing the meat in the mustard again.

* * *

Sometimes she is on the train and then she knows he is going home late. On days like this, she doesn't speak a word to him. They may stand side by side, but their is no other physical acknowledgment.

On days they pass one another, he usually asks her out to coffee. They've been going to a new place, more than a few blocks outside the neighborhood.

The sit and talk and he puts more sugars in his coffee than she does. She wears the same lipstick everyday. It is subtle color, not intimidating, but he notices that her lips leave imprints over every mug. His wife wears lipstick, a lighter shade than Temari's.

Some days she waits for him outside his work. He sees her on a chair in the lobby of the rather large office building. No one else does. She isn't stupid.

They take the train together. To the pictures. To dinner. To dessert. She drops him off at home. She insists that she be allowed and not the other way around. After this, he knows, she walks home alone. He doesn't know what she thinks about during times like these. He rarely knows what she is thinking though.

* * *

They walk home one night in midsummer. It is a regular night. Midweek, coffee. There isn't anything that differentiates it from any other. He isn't suspecting it when her hand reaches out for his own, but he knots his fingers with hers anyway. For being so humid and heated out, he is surprised by how cool her hand feels.

They are a step closer now, biceps practically touching. After a block or so, she unlaces her fingers from his and slowly drags her the pads of her fingers up his forearm.

Shivers snake up his skin.

Shikamaru doesn't know what he feels. Attraction: maybe. Lust: yes. Alright: not in the least.

He looks down at where her hand is gently gripping his elbow and then looks back at her. He can feel his heart pounding. Temari is eyeing him seductively. She is inviting and he thinks of nothing else. They stop at a hotel on the corner.

* * *

Temari has her arms crossed gently beneath her chest as she leans back, balancing against the edge of the table. She looks out the window.

There is a cricket or two in the yard below. The window is open and their song pours into the room.

Shikamaru stands a few inches behind her, to the side, but close enough to smell the soap on her skin. He watches—observes. The details of the back of her neck. The curve of where her neck joins into her shoulder. The smoothness of the skin and maroon cotton of her dress where is curves in the neckline. The zipper along her side and the freckles on her bare arm. He looks carefully at her hair, curled and bobbing just above her shoulder. He watches the rise of her chest as she slowly breathes in and out.

The lights are all on in the room, which is cheap and he imagines few people come here to do anything more than engage in quick, meaningless (and probably professional) fucks.

Eventually, Temari turns around and without another glance, walks further into the room. Shikamaru doesn't know what to think or what to do. He continues to stare at the space she had previously been occupying.

"Shikamaru," he hears her say, and after an extended pause, he turns around. "We won't be like them."

* * *

They pass on the stairwell of the station once again. They haven't spoken for a little over a week. He doesn't have anything to say, though it wouldn't be wrong to say that he misses her.

But they pass one another in silence. Temari gives a small smile and a slight nod and Shikamaru returns the regards.

His heart has always pounded when he saw her, but had mainly calmed down since he became more comfortable with her. Now though, it is beating like it did before and he wonders why.

* * *

"I don't know if I should tell you this," Asuma begins.

"Hn?"

"I saw your wife in the street yesterday."

Shikamaru doesn't look up from his work, "oh?"

"She was with another man."

"Probably just a friend," he says. He writes something down and then turns the page.

Asuma gives a sigh of contentment. "Like you and Mrs. Ryo."

Shikamaru shrugs, still reading. "Similar, I guess."

* * *

When he comes back into the room, Temari is beside the door, waiting for him. Her face reveals little, but he can tell she is nervous. He wonders briefly if this is how it must feel for _them_.

"Some of the other tenants are playing shogi. They were just inviting me to play with them."

"Does this happen often?"

"Sometimes—when my wife is out of town."

"You play?"

Shikamaru shrugs. He played, adamantly, but Temari doesn't know many details about him and he knows fewer about her. It seems better that way.

"They think I must be lonely having a wife that goes on business trips so often."

Temari nods and brings her fingers to her mouth, biting a knuckle. He looks at the parted dark red of her lips with a white finger between them. There is a pause and then she takes a step closer to Shikamaru, intending to slip her shoes back on. "I should go."

He raises his hands, "you can't. They're playing in the hallway."

Neither of them wanted his neighbors to see her exiting his place.

She stops and looks up at him. "How long will they be?"

"Their games usually last a few hours."

Temari sighs and steps back, further into the room.

"Can I get you something to drink… in the meantime?"

Temari sits on his bed and rests her hands in her lap. "The strongest you have."

It is the first time she has been upstairs. She often walked him to his building, but they had been talking about a piece in the paper and Shikamaru had a copy. He lives in a studio apartment, small and inconvenient, but he has always been content with it. There is only so much money a young couple can make. They had been saving up for later… Shikamaru doesn't know what that means anymore.

Now, it seems too small. He isn't uncomfortable with her here. But he feels disconcerted.

Temari takes the glass he offers and he takes a seat on an old chair in the corner. He watches as she sips her drink, closing her eyes as it burns lines down her throat. The drink is clean and although he has seen her drink alcohol before, he has never seen her drink anything so strong.

His wife doesn't like strong alcohol.

Apparently, Temari does, and although they are supposed to be playing the parts together, lately he's been wondering if they're playing anything at all anymore? Or is this just them… together? He is more and more confused about what it is this is supposed to be.

Temari licks her lips and leans over to set her now half-empty glass on the bedside table.

It is late and although there are lights on, outside the window the sky is black. They haven't been here long, but it was light when she first came up.

"Get some sleep," he says, sipping a drink of his own. "You can catch a few hours. I'll wake you when they leave."

Temari thinks this over and then nods. She moves further onto the bed—she is on his side of the mattress, which both seems fitting and unfitting at the same time—and lays down. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she raises herself up again and reaches into her hair. She unclips a barrette and for the first time, he sees her hair fall into her face. She really is exceptionally beautiful, which he'd known beforehand, but seeing her in a different state brings the issue front hand. Temari places the brown and nondescript hairpiece onto the bedside table.

She lays down again and eventually locks gazes with Shikamaru, always seemingly aware of when he is watching her.

They say nothing and after a second her eyes dart to a spot behind him and he knows what she is looking at.

His wedding picture is nothing special. He is dressed appropriately. His wife has never been more beautiful. They are holding hands and walking down the aisle, people clapping as they exited the ceremony. He knows the photo well.

At the time, he'd never been happier. Even now, he muses, that was the best day of his life.

Temari looks back at him. He wonders how recognizable he is. Somedays, when his looks in the mirror happen to turn into more than passing glances, he has trouble recognizing himself. He doesn't know what it is, besides the obvious signs. Ones that may be attributed to overwork and lack of sleep. Paleness, dull skin; circles beneath his eyes.

But that isn't the part that makes him so unrecognizable to himself.

He can't pinpoint it, but he is no longer the same person.

She knows he is the one in the photograph, of course, but when she looks back at him it is as though she too is searching for something in him that is lost.

Temari lays down on the bed once more and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She brings an arm above her head.

"It isn't about the betrayal," she says slowly, not looking at him. This jars Shikamaru from his thoughts. Not once, he ventures, has she ever mentioned anything about this. They talk in circles sometimes, not referring to anything directly, but more often, they simply play their parts and read their script and figure everything out.

He has nothing to say, and so, he waits.

"It is about the unfamiliarity," she says, and then adds, for good measure: "for me".

"I wonder," she continues—perhaps, in the end, more to herself than to him—, "about the person sitting next to me." She brushes a thumb over her lower lip. "When had he changed?" There is a long pause. "And why? Why had he changed?"

Temari rolls back over onto her side. She doesn't look at him, but Shikamaru feels more exposed with her than he has in a long time.

"How did I miss the change?" she asks absently. "When he looks at me, I don't know who he is. He is unfamiliar to me now… and for me, that is worse than the perfidy."

* * *

It is late summer when he and his wife fight.

August doesn't treat him differently. Nothing has changed. But somehow, having admitted something, it seems like everything is no longer the same. And it never will be again, will it? Can it?

He feels like it is the penultimate moment before something happens and things change forever, but he doesn't understand how they aren't already changed. He doesn't know what he wants. His wife to stop? To be happily married? To not feel so pitiful? Shikamaru has never been one to doubt himself. He is sure in his actions. He was sure in his marriage. He was sure in his job.

But what is he hoping to gain… now?

So they fight. And he packs a bag.

* * *

"Why did you call me today?"

"I wanted to hear your voice."

There is a long pause and if Shikamaru didn't know any better, he'd of thought she'd hung up. Eventually, he hears her inhale. "Be more careful when I'm at work."

This time, he doesn't respond.

"Are you free tonight?" She asks. "...Where are you?"

Shikamaru thinks it over and then gives the address.

* * *

He can see her from the window.

A few hours have passed since they talked. It is late afternoon, but it is summer, and the sun won't be gone for a long time yet.

Shikamaru stands by the window. One panel is open, the other closed. White shifts serve as thin curtains and blow in the light breeze found fourteen stories above ground. The streets aren't bustling but there are a fair amount of pedestrians and Temari is halfway downy the block before he realizes that the woman with light hair is her.

He hadn't been watching out for her, but he isn't surprised to see her. She walks along the pavement with slow steps, and when she reaches the entrance to his hotel, she disappears from sight under the bright red awning. But a few seconds later, she appears on the other side. She is too far away for him to see her face, and he wonders what expression she is making as she continues down the block. A few yards from the entrance, she stops. There is almost a minute of clear indecisiveness before she looks over her shoulder. She is wearing gloves and holding a bag in her hand. She is dressed nicer than usual.

Shikamaru feels nothing. If anything, he is apathetic.

He wants to see Temari, yes. But he also isn't sure he wants her to come up. He is the one who called though. She seems to be feeling the same way, but he can never tell with her.

Shikamaru leans away from the window. He reaches to the desk beside him and pulls out a cigarette. He lights up. When he moves back and looks back down, Temari is gone. He is not sure which direction she took.

* * *

"I didn't think you'd come," he says honestly, standing on one side of the open doorway.

Temari stands in the hall. It has been over fifteen minutes since she disappeared front the street and he wonders how many times she must have stopped inside the hotel, much like she did on the sidewalk, before finally knocking on his door.

She says nothing and after a pause, Shikamaru steps back and widens the door, letting her in. Temari comes in and looks around. The hotel room isn't much smaller than his own apartment. She takes another few steps in and places her bag on desk. After another sweep of eyes around the room, she pulls out the chair there and sits down, crossing her legs.

The room is full of reds, from the bedspread to the carpet and walls. Temari is wearing green, but her lips match the decor. Throughout the night, he watches her mouth as she smiles and speaks, occasionally laughing. Her lipstick never changes, even as her outfits do. There was a work function, she explains, which accounts for her silk dress and pearls and matching gloves.

He sits on an extra chair beside her and they talk about nothing particular. One panel of window remains open and the shift curtains blow. The cicadas can be heard from below as the day slowly turns into night.

* * *

He never quite understood it, but as time goes on, and summer begins to come to an end, and the leaves are just getting ready to change, he thinks, maybe, he is understanding it (how it works) better now.

Though he still wonders what it means when Temari leans her head on his shoulder as the taxi takes them home from a restaurant across town. But these days, he doesn't wonder if this happened to _them_.

* * *

"I got scolded by one of the neighbors today."

"Which one?"

"Mrs. Utatane."

Shikamaru wraps the cord of the phone around his pointer. "What did she say?"

He can almost see her shrug, knowing the expression she must be wearing all too well. "It is unhealthy for young couples not to be together."

"What did you tell her?"

"That you were on business."

"I am." Shikamaru says, realizing that, in some ways, he is being honest. He and his wife speak for a few more minutes before he hangs up. He isn't ready to go home.

* * *

They meet in the bar. He proposed it earlier on the phone, casually and seductively and both reading the script and working his own curiosity at the same time. In the bar, dinner, then upstairs to the room.

She is wearing a nude beaded dress that both shows more of her back than he finds appropriate and is entrancing all at once. But Temari does that sometimes. She presses herself against his back as he orders drinks, her long fingers clutching at his shoulders, and then he escorts her to a table in the next room.

The hotel is nice and the waitstaff cordial. He has never eaten in the hotel's restaurant though. They always ate somewhere else.

"Good evening, Sir," their server says, coming to stand beside the table.

Temari orders fish, and Shikamaru is surprised, but he says nothing. Paying attention to someone's order isn't a very interesting hobby, and in all cases, one he had never partaken in. But for dinner, Temari always ordered the same thing. For specific reasons. Reasons, he knew. But tonight, with little acknowledgement to him, she'd ordered fish.

They have a good dinner. One that is incredibly comfortable and yet so different from usual.

Temari is playful, but not cunningly or schoolgirl either. She is hard and cold and although he has always been attracted to her, he has never really been with _her. _Tonight, he thinks he is. And perhaps, she is really with _him_. But he doesn't know, to be honest, because he has never known _Temari_ and he doesn't ask.

And when their server calls her his wife, neither of them say anything to correct it.

* * *

Outside the elevator on the fourteenth floor, she walks ahead of him. He watches her clavicles and the line of spine down her back as she walks down the carpeted hall. The wine has rushed to his head and his body is on fire.

She always comes upstairs with him. But never like that.

And this isn't like that either.

Though he imagines what her back would look like if her dress wasn't there.

But yet, as soon as he hands her the brass key and their fingers brush, neither are surprised when he pushes her into the entryway wall as soon as they enter his room.

There isn't a noise he can hear except for her quickening breath and the blood pounding in his ears. He feels hot and constricted _everywhere_. Shikamaru has his hands pressed firmly against the wall on either side of her head. Temari's eyes are bright and her cheeks flushed and he _knows_ it is only the alcohol, but his chest is so tight and he can't get enough air into his lungs.

And he has no idea how it came to this.

Shikamaru leans in.

They are hungry. He is yearning— burning. His lips breath over her neck, almost there but never quite. His heart is pounding miles a minute, leaning in so close he can _feel _the hairs on her skin.

He can hear Temari's heartbeat.

They stay like that because he can't move in. And she isn't coming to him. He doesn't know which of them is more pathetic.

It is not a moment later that she slips out from between him and the wall, his feet rooted to the ground. He doesn't even look after as the door slams shut.

* * *

He calls two days later. She doesn't answer. He calls again. Twice. Three times. Then stops.

A week after, he check out of the hotel. His apartment is empty. His wife is gone, on business.

He takes Asuma's calls, even paying the collect from Iwa.

* * *

It hasn't been more than a month when he sees her again.

He knew he would. He would have found her if she hadn't found him

He is on his way to work when she gets on the train, going back home. She doesn't stop short when she sees him. Instead, she walks forward and stands beside him, holding onto the metal pole to keep her balance.

Shikamaru sees her but doesn't look at her. They say nothing and when they get out at the same stop, he follows behind her as they go down the stairs of the station. He doesn't turn down the correct block to his office, but follows her down the sidewalk. She knows he is there but says nothing.

He accompanies her all the way to her building, and then waits until she has disappeared behind her door, before he turns and walks the few blocks to his work.

* * *

When he comes downstairs after work a few days later, on his way out the building, she is standing in the entryway. She is usually significantly less obvious. He has been waiting to see her.

Temari looks at him with something akin to warmth in her eyes and, much to his chagrin at being so obvious, he returns the sentiment.

It is good, he figures, that she came now. He has to do it at some point.

* * *

They walk side by side. Temari is wearing longer sleeves that go to her elbow, and for the first time since he began walking beside her, he doesn't take off his jacket.

Around their feet, yellow leaves have begun to blanket the pavement. The humid air has turned dry and crisp, and while it isn't cold quite yet, it isn't sweltering either.

When they finally come to a stop, it is outside the cafe they used to frequent further outside her neighborhood. It has been a few months since they came here last, and they find themselves leaning back against the brick wall.

They haven't spoken yet and they don't for a while as the sun sets and the streetlights turn on.

Eventually Shikamaru lights up. Once he finishes his cigarette and stomps it out, he finds the words.

"I'm leaving," he says, cutting straight to it.

They, more than anyone, can speak in circles.

Temari snaps her head to him. He has rarely seen her move so quickly. She is sharp, but Shikamaru feels none of the anxiety. Maybe he has made peace. Maybe he is just too cowardly to be hope for anything more with his deliverance.

"Asuma called from Iwa. They're short on staff— he'd like me to go help."

Temari takes a long breath, letting the information sink in. "How long?" She asks eventually.

"Don't know," he says honestly, "I'll play it by ear."

There is a longer pause this time. "Why go?"

"I'm tired of this place…." He has never been very forthright in their relationship, and he never understood why it took him until now to realize it. He is _honest_ now though. More so than he has ever been. "Tired of the way people look at us." On the train on the street. In the hotel. The misinterpretations that he doesn't want or wants too badly.

"About us? You know it isn't true. There is no reason to worry."

He gives a low laugh. "I used to think that too. And it didn't worry me."

Temari lifts her hand and bites down on her knuckle. "I said we wouldn't be like them."

"I thought we wouldn't…. But I was wrong. You won't leave your husband so I'd rather go away."

She turns her head to the side away from him, looking over the sidewalk. "I didn't think you'd fall in love with me."

His heart isn't beating rapidly. The air isn't escaping from his lungs. His head is calm and collected finally, and after the better part of a year, he is _sure_ again.

"Neither did I."

Temari says nothing, so he continues.

"We were only curious to know how it began. Now I know."

He didn't understand for the longest time. How his wife could do it. But now he does. And he can't stay angry. How could he?

"Feelings can creep up just like that. I thought I was in control."

Temari looks back over at him. Her face is unreadable, but he doesn't have to understand her to know. Feelings like this are always mutual.

"Shikamaru…" she begins—

He takes a step forward and turns to her, cutting her off. "But now I hate to think of your husband coming home." He continues. He smiles to himself and looks down at his feet. "I want him to stay away."

* * *

They walk further down the street for a long time. When they stop in an alleyway, he lights another cigarette and leans against another building, watching her as she paces back and forth. They have wandered into an unfamiliar neighborhood and there is no one else on the street.

"The brand you smoke," Temari says, continuing to walk up and down and in circles on the pavement, "smells like honey."

"I've heard that," Shikamaru says.

"May I have one?"

"I thought you didn't smoke."

Temari shrugs and Shikamaru reaches into his breast pocket once more and pulls out his case, handing one to Temari. He lights a match and their fingers touch as she takes it. She inhales well and seems relatively versed in the art of smoking, but he doesn't mention this.

"You'd better not see me again," she says, leaning against the opposite wall.

Shikamaru puts out his cigarette and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking up at her. "Is your husband back, then?"

"Yes." Temari takes another drag. With her free hand, she grabs her opposite elbow "Am I hopeless?"

"Not really."

Shikamaru gets up off the wall and steps forward.

"I won't see you anymore, then." He says, coming closer to still. He looks down at her hands. "Keep a closer eye on your husband," he says casually.

Temari gives a short laugh. And they both smile. But then they stop and sober and Shikamaru presents his palm and Temari moves her fingers off her elbow and slips her hand into his.

They hold hands for a few seconds, and his calm and passive demeanor slips away.

Suddenly his heart is racing again. Temari looks down between their connected hands and back up to his face and down again.

When he tries to pull away, Temari tightens her grip. Her hand is always so cool and her fingers rough. When she finally lets go, her eyes avert to his feet. The hand he had been holding flexes and then grips her opposite forearm, tight and tense and she brings it back to her elbow, squeezing. Her nails press into her skin and he watches the way her wedding band reflects the light. She looks around and then back at him and then away from him once again.

Her other hand comes up and, with her whole arm shaking, she takes a final drag of his cigarette.

* * *

He can't help but try though.

* * *

He doesn't even remember anything he'd said.

…the signal that doesn't seem to connect, the ringing that doesn't seem like it can be heard, the call that might have been dropped…

"Yes, Ryo speaking"

He clearly remembers listening to her words and not one noise escapes his attention.

"It's me. If I had two tickets, would you come with me?"

* * *

_**two years later**_

* * *

Shikamaru knocks over his couch, not satisfied with just looking beneath it. The couch joins the bedside table on the floor. But what he is looking for isn't there.

The man at the front desk insists that no one came into Shikamaru's apartment while he wasn't there, but Shikamaru is sure of it. Things don't just missing. Not important things that are supposed to remain there.

Sweat is rolling down his face and his back and his sleeves are rolled up and his tie long discarded. Shikamaru rubs his eyes and moans, finally giving up and leaning back against his dresser. He must have been down there for a little less than half an hour before he finally stands, with difficult, certainly. He is in no state to be sane.

Shikamaru doesn't smoke like he used to. But he still does it enough to consider it a wayward habit.

Reaching for his supposedly unopened packet of cigarettes is when he stops short.

It has been two years since he left Konoha.

Two years since he left her. But he recognizes the color as though she were with him right now. Shikamaru grabs the stub and falls backward onto the floor, spine hitting his overturned bedside table.

He stays there for hours, eventually falling asleep with a half smoked cigarette in his hand, the end of which is covered in a perfect ring of recognizable lipstick.

The imprint of her lips is distinct.

* * *

a/n: I will publish the second part in a few days. I am also finishing the first few chapters of To Start a Fire vol. 2, so look out for those! Also, there is a link on my profile with the music that inspired this fic and a photograph of how i imagine Temari's hair/overall look in this time.

**PLEASE REVIEW and give all the feedback (good and/or bad) because it only helps me improve.**

*special beta thanks to: _appy appy _and _kim daemon_

_Happy Summer Everyone!_


	2. luck be a lady

**Title: **night and day  
**Pairing: **Shikamaru/Temari  
**Rating:** T

a/n: this takes place right before the last scene in the previous chapter and offers an explanation to the ending. so it is two years after the story takes place.

* * *

**Luck Be A Lady**

* * *

_"It's me. If I had two tickets, would you come with me?"_

* * *

She takes one step into his apartment, then another.

It is different than his old one. And it is different than his hotel room.

There is not much here. Nothing is closed off. The living room turns into the kitchen turns into the bedroom, each in a relative corner. The room is full of browns and greens and wood. She wonders how he moves about this place.

He knows the floor beneath her feet. He knows what it's like to wake up and reach for a glass of water without having to open his eyes. He is familiar with this place.

She knows nothing. She wants to know this. She wants to see the things he sees the way he sees them.

But she can not see anything.

She slips off her shoes. She is not wearing stockings.

Her bare feet press into the floor. She rolls the sole of her foot on the ground with each step further and further into the apartment.

She reaches out and lets the tips of her fingers drag along the top of the couch. The material is rough on her skin.

Would she be here now? Would she know this room?

Would she know it as he does?

She sits on the unmade bed. There is no indent, but only one side is mussed. She scrunches her toes on the floor. Her fingers feel the fabric of the sheet beneath her. Her heart is pounding harder, but her pulse doesn't speed up.

She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.

She exhales all the way and then waits until the lack of oxygen is unbearable before breathing in as slowly and as much as she can.

His smell is different but not unfamiliar. All she can do is take it in.

Would she know this bed? Would she wake up here in the morning? Would her body have etched its form into the unused side of the mattress? Would her fingers know the grooves of the frame and the sound of the creaks from seeking out substance while they made love?

Eventually, she lifts her legs and moves her torso down. Her head hits his pillow.

She doesn't sleep. But she pretends.

Some time later, she sees a barrette on the bedside table.

She wouldn't be surprised if he had another woman, but she is less surprised that the hairpiece belongs to her. She reaches it and takes it between her fingers. She wears her hair shorter now, but she still fashions the barrette into place above her ear.

There is a telephone on the wall. She already knows the number. She always has.

It rings twice.

—Iwa Daily.

—Is Shikamaru Nara there?

—One moment.

She hears some static and voices away from the speaker. A few moments later, she can hear the telephone moved.

—Nara speaking.

His voice sounds the same, but to be honest, she doesn't really remember what it sounded like.

It's no matter though, the feeling remains the same. She clutches her elbow, and leans back against the wall. In the pause, she can hear him breathing. Her heart beats faster than she expected it to.

—Hello?

The blood is pounding in her ears, drowning out his breath.

—Hello?

Slowly, she hangs up the phone.

She no longer remembers the details of his face. She doesn't remember his gait or the pressure of his hand when he encased it with hers. She doesn't remember what his breath on her neck felt like, but when she tries to recall, the spot burns.

Atop his dresser is an unopened carton of cigarettes. She peels the plastic off and breaks the seal. A set of matches is nearby.

When she lights up, she remembers the scent of the cigarette and the memory of the thought of how he would taste. Like nicotine with the scent of honey, she knew.

She still hates smoking, and before the cigarette is halfway gone, she puts it out in a dirty glass ashtray she recognizes from his old apartment.

Her fingertips touch her hair once more and she considers leaving the barrette where she found it, but eventually decides against it.

With little more than a look around the room, Temari slips her shoes back on and walks out.

* * *

All finished. To be honest, this was the most difficult story for me to write. This final chapter was written while writing the first part, and I meant to publish it as the prequel to another story that would only be somewhat related to station X, but it grew into Temari just wandering around and seeing the life she could have—and should have—led. I hope this chapter—it isn't a second part after all, just a brief snippet. But well worth it and useful, I think.

Please review. Honestly, this is my first actual T rated story and I am very unsure about my work in this rating. It really does change what i can write. It doesn't go along the common shikatema structure—nor have a happy ending necessarily. But I hope you all still can enjoy it.

So yes, please review, and remember to read the new chapter of tsaf v2 sometime next week!

In best regards,

LM.

thanks for reading!


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